bug eyed with cocaine in his yellow eyes,
a graveyard tattooed on his right arm,
thug life tattooed on his knuckles
death is calling my number.
he beckons me
to the social securities office
my time is up
i try to run out the door.
now that this is happening
my friends don't believe me
and the government don't give a fuck
but the waiting for my number to be called is almost done.
i want to scream
but choke on the thought of using the right word,
finally yelling out
'i've known some hard days in my day
the weight of the world
enough to bend a metal spoon.'
i was too drunk to go anywhere
spilled out of the faucet
into golden cups
till dawn broke
i threw up all over the front of myself
but this is not last night anymore.
i find myself
running out of the white room with the white windows
and no other way to relate but to scream
ive known some hard days in my day
at the man with yellowed cocaine eyes
a graveyard tattooed on his shoulder
and thug life tattooed on his knuckles
where the people all look dead
and just might be,
where no human touch exists.